Cinnamongus Biscuits
by Kefalion
Summary: Hagrid's found a new recepie for biscuits. We know how great his baking is (rock cakes). Perhaps he'll have better success this time.
This is a silly little story written for several challenges at the Hogwarts Houses Challenges forum.

The challenges include writing about _a cooking disaster_ , about _a member of the Hogwarts Staff_ as well as the word _carmine_ and the creature _ashwinder._

I said that this story was silly, didn't I? It's the silliest story I've written by far. I hope you'll enjoy!

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 **Cinnamongus Biscuits  
** _Words: 2209_

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It was the perfect recipe. It would make the perfect biscuits, he was certain of it. Not that there was anything wrong with his usual cakes (though truthfully, his opinion on this matter was not shared by his guests), but he knew that with this recipe the result would be something special. But more than that it was the perfect recipe, the hag who had sold it to him had given him one of the key ingredients too, the ingredient that would make all the difference. Rare and expensive it had been nothing short of amazing that he'd gotten his hands on them. Eggs of the cinnamongus. Hagrid smiled (though you might not have seen it had you been there as most of the expression was hidden in his impressive beard) as he went into his house at the edge of Hogwarts grounds, putting down his purchase. He immediately started the baking process, preparing the stove, putting logs to burn and managed Fang (his large, yet cowardly boarhound) so that the dog would not push the eggs off the table and slobber all over the work surface.

The giant man bustled about, getting the flower, the butter and sugar as well as the dried fruit and dash of treacle that was needed (more than a bit of each ended up on the floor because of Hagrid's enthusiasm, but Fang made sure that id didn't remain there for long).

Hagrid hummed under his breath as he worked. It was overall a very good day. Saturday, no classes to worry about. Harry, Ron and Hermione had accepted his invitation for tea that afternoon (they felt guilty for not continuing with Care of Magical Creatures on NEWF level and that guilt had made them partake in Hagrid's questionable cooking more than once since the start of the school year, and that same guilt had worked once again). Hagrid looked forward to surprising them with the new biscuits very much. He was certain that they'd love them (because why wouldn't they?).

The dough came together nicely, or well, it came together nicely until the final ingredient was added in. The eggs. When he received the eggs the shells had been a cinnamon brown colour in accordance with the nesting habit of the birds (these big, magical birds found in Asia Minor are known for their use of cinnamon bark when they construct their nests). Now the shells were maroon rather than anything else.

Hagrid squinted suspiciously at them, but through little of it, it might just be a trick of the light (not caring was a mistake, a big mistake) and he cracked first one, then two eggs, folding them into the dough. The butter melted and the Care of Magical Creatures Professor frowned at the mixture in the bowl. Yet he pressed on and followed the recipe (as he remembered it from reading it at the start) which said for him to knead the dough with his hands against a flat surface. He tilted the dough out onto his cleaned table and sternly told Fang to stay away once more before starting to knead.

It stung, as if the flour mixture was very warm (most people would have stopped kneading then, concluding that it was indeed giving off heat, but not Hagrid). He worked the dough until it had gone from something he could imagine to be warm, to something that was unbearably hot even to the toughened skin of his hands. He had to quit then, and decided that he best read the recipe again. There was only one problem. While he'd been able to keep Fang from getting to the stuff on the table, the parchment piece with the baking instructions had at one point fallen to the floor and before that it had gotten a drizzle of treacle on it, and that had been enough to make Fang interested. He'd chewed on a corner and licked up the dark, sugary syrup along with most of the ink (so all the instructions were now gone. No recipe to read anymore).

"Fang!" Hagrid barked (do you see the irony?) at the dog, but the animal didn't have the decency to feel ashamed, only slobbering and panting while wagging his tail lazily. "Out you go, ye great beast."

And so Fang was moved outside the cabin where he couldn't do any more harm to the baking process (though it was a bit late to help the situation). With one less problem to concern himself with (but not nearly the most pressing one), Hagrid returned to his cooking, hoping that he'd intuitively know what to do (how difficult could it be?). The dough was steaming now (though maybe it'd actually be better to call it smoke as the small cloud rising from the dough was fairly dark in colour and shifted in shades of carmine and black). The increased heat wasn't much of a problem, however, as the shaping of the dough into individual biscuits was done with utensils. Hagrid was determined to see it through. It might be nothing wrong after all (baking with magical ingredients can be tricky). Only a few minutes later the tray was set in the oven, and so the dough was made hot either way.

As Hagrid slammed the oven door shut, there was a knock on the door.

"Come right in with ye!" he called, seeing the shapes of the people waiting there through a window next to the door and the trio of Gryffindor sixth year students he'd been expected sauntered inside.

"Hello, Hagrid!" Harry said brightly (though there was a bit of strain there, as if he wasn't truly as happy as he was making out to be). The other two filled in giving their own greetings.

"Hello you three, I wasn't expecting you 'til a bit later. I'll get the tea started."

"I'll help you," Hermione was quick to say and so the girl did, while Ron and Harry got seated by the table. She brought cups over to the table for all four of them and then she stopped and frowned. Eggshells had been left on the table.

"What's that?" she asked. "It looks like shells from ashwinder eggs."

"Ah, that's," Hagrid stopped speaking as he took in what she was looking at. The eggshells were neither cinnamon brown nor maroon now. They were a bright fiery red. Carmine with streaks of crimson and orange. "That's not cinnamogul eggs," he muttered.

"Cinnamogul?" Harry commented.

"Hagrid, what were you trying to do?" Hermione asked (rather unexpectedly, if you know her you would have expected her to elaborate on what a cinnamogul was) coughing a little.

"It was a new recipe," he explained, "a hag gave it to me, tha recipe an' the eggs. Said they were cinnamogul eggs. Supposed to be amazing in baking they are."

"But you used ashwinder eggs," the young witch said, "That's..." she coughed harder. Ron had begun to cough too, while Harry's eyes were turning red around the edges with irritation.

"Your oven is smoking," Ron said in a choked tone, coughing some more.

Hagrid glanced at the oven then got where smoke was indeed escaping around the edges of the door, it was belching, dark and noxious. "Ah!" he exclaimed and hurried to take the tray out. It didn't work. It was stuck (typical, isn't it?).

As Hagrid struggled with the oven Hermione had rushed to the door, opening it to vent out some of the smoke that was by now growing dense enough to make it difficult to see. She stumbled on the way and ended up next to the door instead of by it, trying in vain to find a door handle on the smooth wall.

Harry had taken off his glasses and was rubbing at his eyes which only made the stinging in them worse and he couldn't help the tears that were running as his body tried to deal with the irritation.

Ron was coughing badly and as he decided to open the door himself, which worked much better than Hermione's efforts. "What's (cough) wrong with (cough) you?" he asked her as he grabbed her arm and dragged her outside.

She didn't seem to notice what was happening. She coughed and giggled a bit, before muttering: "You're pretty," and so she began to stroke his hair. Ron didn't know what to think of that, and Harry who, half blind, had joined them outside only shrugged.

Meanwhile Hagrid had managed to force the oven door open and had gotten the tray with the cakes out. They looked more like smouldering coals than biscuits (awesome but not very appetizing) they gave off carmine coloured sparks together with even thicker smoke. Not wanting to fill the hut with even more smoke Hagrid went out the back and dumped the tray with the failed biscuits in a barrel of water that was standing by one of the downpipes. The smoke was suffocated, though a cloud of blistering steam rose from the barrel, and the heat even set fire to the wooden barrel (yes, even though there was water in it, it was set on fire, it was that blazingly hot). There was a second barrel by the other side of the back door and Hagrid poured it over the flame. The added water (very luckily – the hut was made of wood and could have gone up in flames too) was enough to douse the flames and put them out. At the bottom of the first, very damaged barrel now lay a few charcoal like clumps. The best recipe ever had not been so great after all.

A bit wet and with soot on his hands and face Hagrid walked around his house to see to his three guests. They weren't all that great off. Ron was coughing violently while Hermione hovered over him, cooing softly and Harry was sat on the ground, his eyes running insistently.

"Wha's ha'end to ye?" he asked loudly, feeling fear setting in.

Harry was the one who answered. "I think the smoke had some adverse affects on us."

"Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry."

"Not (cough) your fault (cough, cough), Hagrid," Ron managed.

"So pretty," was all Hermione said.

Taking it in Hagrid came to a quick decision (he was feeling really bad about it, this was his fault but for once he would see to fixing it before lamenting his own incompetence). "I need to get you to the hospital wing."

"I suppose we have to," Harry muttered.

And so they were off. Hagrid leading the way, walking as fast as he could and still keep the trio with him. Ron would have to stop every so often as his coughing fits got worse and Hermione was locked to his side. Harry also needed help as he wasn't seeing where he was going, his eyes running insistently. In the corridor leading to the hospital wing he suddenly stopped and asked in a loud voice, eyes on the end of the corridor past the entrance to the hospital. "Do you see that?"

"What?" Ron asked uninterestedly, his voice very hoarse by now, damaged from the coughing. He was walking slumped over, not having the energy to stay upright.

"The giant spider."

"Spider!" Ron shrieked.

"It's pink," Harry commented. "Oh, it turned into a big pink blob. I didn't know spiders could do that. It wants me to follow," he trailed off and began to walk.

"Harry!" Ron said with wide eyes wondering what had gotten wrong with him (he was relieved that the spider didn't seem to be real though).

"No, no," Hagrid hurriedly said. "The hospital wing is where yer going, Harry." When Harry didn't listen, but walked right past the door to Madam Pomfrey's domain, Hagrid simply walked up to him, grabbed him and carried him where he needed to be. Meanwhile Ron and Hermione had made their way inside and were seated on an empty bed.

"Poppy!" Hagrid called, and the nurse came out of her office, noticing Ron coughing, Hermione petting him with a dreamy expression and Harry trying to escape Hagrid's steady grip.

"What in the world has happened here!" she exclaimed.

"Is my fault it is," Hagrid explained. "I was bakin' an' it seems as if I used ashwinder eggs by accident. They inhaled smoke and got like this."

"Can't you see the bouncing elephant?" Harry asked idly. "It wants me to play."

"Pretty," Hermione muttered for the fiftieth time and Ron just coughed on.

"I see." The mediwitch bustled about, getting each of the three students into bed, using magic to keep both Harry and Hermione confined to theirs as they proved that they would not be still if left to their own devices. As Hagrid stood there wringing his hands feeling awfully guilty Madam Pomfrey examined her patients thoroughly and administering an array of potions to each.

When done she ordered Hagrid out, claiming that they needed rest, and his presence wasn't helping any, but that they would be fine in a few days, and chastising him about being careful with cooking. And that is a lesson Hagrid took to heart. It went a whole month before he tried his hands at making food again.

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 **The end**


End file.
